


The tale of the frozen kingdom

by beyond_the_nights_world



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, Destiel - Freeform, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2019-12-07 17:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18237830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_the_nights_world/pseuds/beyond_the_nights_world
Summary: Deans life went down the tube. His mother and brother death, his father gone crazy. Dean had to do hours of community service in the local library. A book about a strange blue eyed king and the sudden appearance of weird monsters changed his life within seconds and he finds himself in a land that is covered in ice and snow?





	1. The library

**Author's Note:**

> An idea that had stuck in my mind is coming to life now. I don't know how long it will take for me to upload new chapters. Due to my mental illness, I am not always in the mood to write, but I will try to post as often as I can.
> 
> This story is a fantasy- au and you will find lots things hinting at other famous fantasy storys and computer game. So you can call that my own appreciation to the fantasy world out there.
> 
> I will add tags and characters will wiritng and I my chance the warning.

Dean hated all about this job. It wasn't even a real job, mere a punishment. In fact, he should be happy, that the judge didn't send him into prison. He couldn't believe that he got caught, again. Driving with too much alcohol, too much grass and a way too big mouth. Jail, he thought, was the only logical consequences.  
The judge had a different opinion about logical consequences and forced him to do charitable work to get a structure in his everyday life, a purpose instead of drug, alcohol.  
Slowly, Dean walked over to one of plenty shelves, crammed with all kinds of old and dusty books and replaced two books a customer had brought back earlier that day.  
The library. The last place Dean wanted to be. He had thought of doing his work in a hospital or in an animal shelter, picking up some animal shit. But he was sent to the land of dust and rotten dreams of people who couldn't face reality.  
Endless rows of books about unsolved mysteries, fantastic worlds and happily-ever-after moments. Things, Dean had stopped to believed in since that dark and stormy winter night, where his life came to an end. Literally.  
A gong echoed through the hall, announcing the closing of the library. One day passed, 100 left.  
“You are scaring the kids away with the face you made, Winchester.” The old man behind the library counter looked up, when he heard Dean approaching.  
“Don't care.”  
“You should.”  
He looked down on his laptop, just to shut it down. With a sigh he looked up to the younger man, raising an eyebrow.  
“How long do you want to drown in self-pity, boy? You still have a life and enough time to turn the corner.”  
Dean freeze, a knot of anger forming in his guts.  
“Not your problem”; he answered, suppressing all of the sudden emotions running through his mind.  
“Did you know, that I knew them. Mary had been here every week, searching for new stories. “  
“Stop it.”  
“And your brother was here, too. Writing all those essay for his studies. Do you really think, they would want to see you like that. Stuck in all that pain, feeling sorry for yourself.”  
“I said, stop it.”  
Dean turned around, discounting a lamp from the table. The librarian didn't even flinch. He just looked at him, his gaze filled with something, Dean couldn't explain.  
“Sorry, princess that I heard your feelings,” he stated, getting up of his chair.  
“What entitled you to talk to me like that, old man? You know nothing. So shut your damn mouth... and.”  
“And what. Are you gonna drive me over with your dad's car? Or are you gonna shot me? With all the drugs inside your brain you wouldn't even be able to aim between my eyes.”  
The old man gulped loudly.  
“And I know more than you know. More about life, about love and loss you will ever be able to learn.”  
He grabbed his jacket from the counter.  
“Surrender was never part of a Winchester.”  
  
The glacial air of the winter night punched him in the face angrily, when he left the building, heading towards the black car on the other side of the road. The dun paint was shimmering in the pale shine of the streetlamp, contrasting the nearly bright chrome parts of the 67er Chevrolet impala. An icy layer of frost work had covered the windshield with a bizarre pattern of crystals. With his hands buried in his pockets and hunched shoulders, he crossed the street.  
He opened the door and slipped into the inside, which wasn't much warmer, but less windy.  
Immediately, he felt more relaxed. Baby, was the only thing left, he cared about. Something that reminds him of home and of better days.  
“Baby girl,” he whispered, caressing the wheel, before he turned on the engine. The 6 cylinder creaked and stuttered and Dean needed a second try to get the engine started. The cooling fan blew cold air into the inside, making Dean tremble. He leaned back, crossing the arms in front of his chest and watched how the icy flowers on his windshield slowly started to melt away.  
Lately, the winter has arrived even in Kansas. Normally, the temperatures hardly fall under the freezing point and Dean could remember one or two winters, where they had a few nights with more than minus 10 degrees. But this was nothing against this little ice age, they had the last month.  
The engine was purring calmly and Dean decided that it was time to drive home, leaving the day behind and awaiting a long, bad-thought-filled night with a six pack of beer and a few porns.  
  
The apartment complex was like a morgue, although it was not even 8 pm. The cold caused the people hiding in their warm homes behind closed windows, sitting in front of the heater or the fireplace if they could affort last one. Finally, Dean hadn't to talk to the people living here, and he hadn't to ignore the gazes they were throwing at him, when he parked Baby in the lot, heading towards his apartment at the end of the wide complex. Everyone knew and everyone was judging him. He pretended to not care about it, but he did.  
Dean passed the little inner yard. Rime crackled under his feet, like someone was chewing loudly on a dry cookie. Icicles hung from the leaking gutter. Jewels of the frost, as his Mom had said, when he was a child.  
Ignoring the pile of letters in front of his door — probably bills and exhortations — he unlocked his door and entered the small room he called his own. A gust, heavy of beer and bilge air, blow out of his room, as if it needed to take a deep breath. Dean stepped in, ignoring the stale air as well. It was disgusting, but warm. His first steps took him to the fridge in the small kitchen cabinet. The rest of a KFC 20 Dollar fill-up literally smiled at him, next to the six pack of good ol' Margiekugel Lager.  
  
Earlier he had thought about watching some porns on his laptop, but he had run out of steam to even switch the laptop on. The conversation with Mr. Singer still stuck in his mind, and he could still boil over by rage.  
He sat down on the dusty floor next to his bed and dug up an old wooden box from below the bed. It was covered with dust as well and the writing on it looked faded. He just stared at the box for a while tracing the deceased letters with his thumb. It was lighter than he had in mind and smaller. Only as big as a cornflakes box. It had been a while since Dean had taken a look at the content. Most of the time it was enough just to know that this box was resting under his bed, containing the last memories of his past life. He opened the box gently, placing the lid next to him on the ground. A thief might be disappointed. There weren't notes or jewelry hiding under the wooden lid, nor other expensive things, which were worth to steal. A bunch of pictures wrapped in an old reddish ribbon. Some articles of the local newspaper, neatly packed in a clear envelope. Baseball tickets, a postcard and an old school magazine covered the ground.  
He had thought of taking more with him, when he left the house, he had once lifted in, but he didn't know what.  
Dean opened the ribbon with shaking hands.  
“Mom,” he whispered to the woman on the first picture, who was smiling widely into the camera. Dean remembered the moment the photo was taken vividly. It was on his birthday one year ago, two days before she died.  
A road tanker had hit their truck on an icy road. The fire only left ash and a few bones behind of her and...  
A sob escaped his Deans lips, when he saw the next picture. The young man on the photo stood proudly on the stage of his university, holding his certificate with both hands.  
“Sammy.” Deans voice was rough and brittle.  
The pictures reminded him of the family he once had. They had never been the picture-perfect family, but when the going got rough, they had their back. Blood had always been thicker than water.  
Now, the only thing left, was this box. Mary dead, Sam dead and his father gone crazy by the loss of his wife and son.  
Dean put the pictures back and closed the box.  
The first weeks after his mothers and brothers death, he had support by his girlfriend. But then she had moved on in a cloak-and-dagger operation. A short note on his bed, that she couldn't stand his mood and that she had found someone else.  
Dean gave a sad laugh, while he opened the first bottle of beer.

 


	2. icy blue and muddy brown

Dean realized, that the water inside the toilet was frozen, when he leaned over it to spew the beer and the chicken wings into the sewer. He had turned and tossed in bed the whole night, haunted by nightmares, which he couldn't remember, when he finally woke up. A damp cold had infiltrated his apartment, hanging in the air like a ghost. Unable to be seen, but palpable for anyone who was moving.  
Dean flushed the toilet as good as it was possible. A small runlet was trickling down for a few moments before a gush of water flushed the ice and puke away. With a sigh, Dean collapsed next to the toilet, leaning against the wall behind him. The cold of the tiles slipped through the fabric of his shirt, making him shiver instantly. Probably, the heating was broken or one of the letters outside, was the heat cost billing procedure. He could remember, if he had paid the last bill, or if he had paid a bill at all.  
It took a while until he got back into his room, slipping into some warmer clothes. His gaze wandered to his bed. The sheet had slide down from the mattress and his blanket was a knot of wrinkled fabric. God, how he wished to climb back under the sheets and curled up. He just wanted to sleep and forget. A dreamless, dark and endless sleep. An emotionless and painless eternity of darkness and silence.  
  
…...  
  
“You look like shit, son.”  
“Bad night, heater broken.” Dean didn't felt like talking about the night, the dreams, the alcohol, and he truly hoped that Mr. Singer wouldn't dig deeper. The librarian just nodded and pointed to the door that led into the stockroom, offices and private rooms.  
“We got a delivery early in the morning. Someone died and the family bequeathed his book collection to us. You can check that out and bring all books we already have down in the storerooms in the basement.”  
Too Mr. Singers surprise Dean just nodded in agreement and moved to the door. He was kind of relieved not to deal with library customers, even if that meant to carry tons of books in the basement.  
The old elevator they have, was just a nice constructive ornament. Not enough money to repair this relic out of the last century, Mr. Singer had told Dean on his first day here.  
The small hallway behind the door was packed with removal crates full of books. A smell of wisdom — dusty and stale — hung in the air like a thick cloud. Dean passed the books and entered the small staff room. The coffee machine bubbled loudly on the kitchenette in the corner, filling the room with a calming scent. The library really was a space of smells Dean realized, when he hung his jacket in the cupboard and filled a mug with coffee afterwards.  
While drinking the hot liquid, he looked out of the window. The park across the library reminded him, of a fantasy movie, he had seen once. The trees were covered in a thick layer of snow, the pond was completely frozen over and everything looked like covered in diamonds and pearls. A few people were crossing the street, wrapped in layers of clothes, their heads hidden beneath woolen hats. A bunch of kids had built a snowman in the park. His orange carrot nose was glowing in the sun like fire.  
He drank the rest of his coffee and put the mug into the sink for later on. Then he moved to the room on the other side — a small office with a desk and a computer. A cart with crates of books already stood next to the desk, waiting for being sorted into the shelves, or stored in the basement to spend the eternity in oblivion

  
He didn't know who that guy was, that made the books over to the library, but he had to be a strange guy or a collector with a passion for old... very old books. Most of the books Dean had flipped through within the last hours had been historic books about ancient demons and gods, sunken races and magical rituals. Sometimes, Dean had some modern books for the shelves, but most of the content of the crates wasn't even whole enough to offer to customers.  
Written in ancient letters or old languages, no one in his hometown, would ever be interested to borrow one of these books.  
Just as he wanted to carry the first bunch of books into the basement, he saw that there was one left in the carton. Something of the book seemed to be different. It was downright neat in comparison to the books before. The binding was made out of leather with shielded nooks and symbols engraved. When he fetched it, it felt surprisingly warm and smooth. Carefully, Dean rested the book of his desk and examined it skeptically. The book was closed with a small silvery lock, nothing that could keep Dean away from opening it. But first of all, he flipped the book, realizing that the cover was on the other side.  
“The tale of the frozen kingdom” Dean whispered, surprised to have a fairytalebook in his hands. He grabbed one of the smaller letter openers and within a few seconds the lock was cracked. With a wave of anticipation he opened the book and nearly jumped in his seat, when a small amulet fell out of the book. A pitch black feather traversed with delicate lines of vibrating blue. Dean rested the feather in his palm. It was heavier than it looked like and it felt even warmer as the binding. Obviously it was very solid and possibly expensive enough to pay some bills. Without a further thought he let it disappear inside the pocket of his trousers. The inside of the book was the complete opposite. The pages were old and began to fall to dust under Deans fingertips. Only a shadow of the ink was left and Dean couldn't read a word of the fairy tale. Dean was just about to close the book, when something drew his attention. A picture was painted on one of the book pages. The colors were pale but more intact than the ink, disclosing the face of a man. Dean couldn't detect much of the face. The colors looked like melted into the paper. But one part of the face was outstanding as if it was painted only a few hours ago. Blue eyes stared at him. A line he had read in one of the Lucy Christopher books his mother owned, came to his mind. “Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me as if I could warm them up. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful, too.” The blue was cool, like the winter sky short after the sun had sunken behind the hills. The wisdom of old and the stubbornness of youth was paired with something strong but gentle. Dean felt foolish by the thought that those eyes had such an impact on him, which he couldn't even explain.  
Footsteps echoed on the hallway, causing Dean to close the book. Instead of putting it back into the crate or on the cart, he hid it in one of the drawers.  
“And something useful?”  
Mr. Singer took a peek into the room.  
“Nah, lots of old stuff, interesting for people who like strange books. But nothing for us.”  
“Well then. You know where to put them. When it stayed that cold, we might need some stuff to fire the heating.”  
The librarian was about to leave the room again, but Dean hold him back.  
“Who was that guy... I mean the owner of the books?”  
“Not much known about him. On the delivery file stood the name Mr. Gabriel. I don't know, I don't care.”  
  
The rest of the day was filled with carrying books through the library. Dean had the feeling that the amount of books didn't diminish. The crates were filled up with useless things, and he had to stow it away. Time was passing and Dean forgot about the book at his desk and the amulet in his pocket. The only wish he had was getting home in a hopefully warm apartment and sleep.  
To his relief the heater was repaired, when he came back after work. The ice in his toilet had melted away and the narrow rooms were filled with sticky warmth again.  
For a moment he thought about taking a shower and ordering some food, but he was to tired to even get undressed. With a loud sight he flopped on his bed, groping for his blanket and fall asleep immediately.  
  
 _A man was talking to him, he had never seen before. He was young, probably his age with a small striking face with muddy gold brown eyes. He leaned casually against a door frame, of a room Dean didn't know. “Interesting”; he mumbled, while chewing at a lollipop. “Who are you?” “Very interesting.” The stranger said again. Then he started to move, walking slowly through the room. Dean observed him precisely. He was a stranger, but something about him seemed to be familiar. “Well, chosen is chosen. Thought about someone more feminine, but well....” He turned around to Dean, stood suddenly just some inches away. Immediately, Dean knew what he was familiar about. Those eyes. They were not icy blue, but they had the same stubbornness and pride, the same old wisdom, just wrapped in brown and gold. “Bring it back... unfreeze the strength. Family don't end in blood, but it doesn't start there either.”_  
  
Dean woke up with a start, his heart beating fast and sweat running down his spine. His gaze wandered around the room awaiting someone to stand in the shadows, but he was alone.  
“What the hell,” he mumbled, wiping the sweat of his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He had have strange dreams before, mostly nightmares. However, this dream was vivid and so real that he still felt the impact. Something was crawling inside him. A trepidation inside him he couldn't explain. Dean got out of his bed, images of blue and brown flashing in front of his eyes. Something was weird, and he knew that the book he had found today was the cause of it.  
He grabbed his jacket and left the room, willing to find out, what was going on.


	3. Strangers in the basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean got surprised by some strange creatures in the library.

The library laid abandoned embedded between old trees and the adjacent building, where the museum of history and science was housed.No one was around and when Dean climbed the first entrance steps, he knew why.

The church down the street lifted its voice over the street to show every sleeping soul that it was one in the night. The time of sleep and rest, the time of watching endless commercials on TV with a beer in the one and a bag of crisps in the other hand. Before arriving at the front door, Dean turned left taking a small path that led around the building to give window cleaner and craftsman some space to work. Dean sneaked along the sandstone wall to the delivery entrance. This door was secured as well — a very loud and bugging alarming siren, but well... it had been the first thing he did, when he started work here. Crafting a replica of the door key. It would have fit to the front door as well, but he didn't want to be seen and the backdoor, which was shielded by a wall and some bushes was definitely the more secure entrance.

He opened the door nearly silently and slipped into the dark hallway. The greenish emergency exit sign immersed the corridor with a pale peaky light. Just enough light to not fall over crates and books. For a moment he listened into the darkness, relieved that the only sound was the bubbling of the heating pipes inside the old walls.  
Dean moved forward to the office he had worked all day in and headed directly to the desk, where he had hidden the book. He opened the drawer and... the book was gone. The second drawer... empty, the crate on the cart... empty.

“Damn it.” He was sure that he had put the book inside the desk, but maybe he or even Mr. Singer had brought it down to the basement, and he just couldn't remember it. It had been a busy day, and he had taken the steps into the basement more often than planed.

The door to the “underground” was opposite of the little restroom. For a moment Dean thought about drinking a coffee, but discarded it immediately. He was not here for coffee and cookie but for answers. Dean opened the door and groping for the switch. The light bulb flickered in protest but decided to stay on. Obviously, the money didn't even was enough for installing a decent lighting system.

A small staircase led down into the realm of old knowledge as Mr. Singer called the basement. In fact, it was not a realm, more of a labyrinth of dust and died dreams. The stairs ended in a big room and reminded Dean of a wine vault. High, brick build catacombs with round ceiling and earthy ground. Next to the stairs was the old elevator. A cast-iron cage with bloom ornaments at its doors. Two narrow hallways spread out from the main room, all spiked with an endless amount of doors. Dean had learned that the library was used as an archive in the past and that there still were thousands of files, photos and parchments behind those doors, slowly turning into dust.  
It was surprising that they still were allowed to store documents here.  
Dean moved over to the pile of boxes he had carried down the day before, looking out for the book and the blue-eyed whatever he was. Everything looked like he had left it.

“So, where are you damn book?”

Dean didn't know where to start, so he tried to remember which crate he had stored first. Carefully, he climbed over a bunch of papers and some smaller boxes with unknown content. The dim light didn't help to find the book. Everything down here, was dipped into shadows, making it impossible to read the covers of the books. He had examined the first pile, when a sound made him freeze. The light bulbs were sizzling and flickering but that didn't catch his attention. He could hear steps, coming from one of the hallways. Strange steps. Not like heavy boots or clattering high-heels. The steps were slow and sluggish, as if something needed all his willpower to move its legs. A tapping sound joined the steps. Dean had heard that sound before, when their old dog Garth was walking over the wooden floor in their living room.

“Tap, tap.” Claws on solid ground.  
Dean knelt down, hiding behind a wooden box. Nothing was to be seen, but the sound grew louder and louder.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Maybe it was a strayed dog that had found its way into the basement. Dean nearly started to laugh hysterically by the thought. What kind of dog would make such noises? Deans gaze rested on the stairs across the room. He was fast and would be able to reach the stairs within a few seconds. Upstairs, he could barricade the door and whatever it was, would stay down below. The moment Dean thought about that, the lights started to flicker again and one after the other went out with sparks. Everything around Dean went pitch black. Except...

A blueish shine came from one of the crates. Soft, nearly silvery cool and Dean knew only by the color that his book was laying there. If he could see the shimmer, that intruder could see it as well. As careful as possible Dean crawled to the book, grabbed it and hide it under his jacket, just at the moment when a dark shadow entered the main room of the basement.

“It's here”, a dark voice growled and a second, much higher one answered with a squishing sound. Dean made himself as small as he could, listening to the feral sounds of the strangers, which were his only help to locate them.

“Something else is here,” the dark voice growled again, much closer this time. “I can smell fear. A human.”

“Yeah. But we need the book. No time for humans.”

Humans? Dean bite his lips as an attempt to wake up out of this nightmare. The sudden taste of blood made it evermore clear that this wasn't a dream. He tried to crawl deeper into the darkness, when suddenly someone grabbed his collar and lifted him up harshly. The book Dean had hidden tumbled on the ground and the blue light burst out.

“Look there!”

For the first time Dean could catch sight of the strangers. Both of them looked like humans, like very freaky deformed humans, right out of a weird horror b-movie. The one not holding him up, knelt down to grab the book, a satisfied grin on his face. Dean could see yellow fangs poking out of his mouth.

“Our master will reward us greatly,” he said, flipping casually through the book.

“Who are you?” Dean gasped and the smaller one just grinned.

“Not your business, human,” he said exposing his teeth. Then he looked over to his partner and nodded. “Finish him and don't munch to loud.”

“What?” Dean started to kick in panic. He didn't want to end as a midnight snack for a monster. The intruder didn't flinch, also Dean's boots hit him against his legs. A smile spread on his hairy face and his tongue wet his lips. “A feast.”

“Not gonna happen.” a sudden voice and the sound of a shot gun echoed through the air. Dean tumbled to the ground, landing painfully on his back, a gust of warm liquid gushing over him. The smell of blood penetrates Dean's mind, and he nearly vomited on the ground.

“You're okay, boy?”

Mr. Singer? How did he get here? What was he doing here and how the hell did he know how to use a shotgun?

“Boy?”

“Yeah... okay...I think!” The other entity growled and mumbled something into the darkness and after a moment more steps were audible.  
Dean scooted over to where he thought Mr. Singer was standing. The elder librarian hide behind a pillar.

“What the hell are you doing down here?”

We whispered, holding the loaded gun ready to shoot again.

“I ... I missed my purse and thought I left it here.”

Dean lied, and he knew, that Mr. Singer knew that

“Sure... boy. Better you get upstairs now. That's nothing for you down here.”

Mr. Singer nodded into the direction of the stairs.

“What the hell are those?”

“Later, son. Now, run and shut the door.” He grabbed Deans arm and pushed him rudely.

Dean stumbled a few steps, then turned around to run up the stairs. However, the entity didn't want him to leave.  
With a furious cry, he jumped up, blocking the way up.

“You gonna pay for that,” he hissed, exposing his teeth. Then he slowly walked up to Dean, who was waiting for a second shot of Mr. Singer. It took a while to realize that he stood directly in the line between the librarian and the stranger. No clear line of fire for Mr. Singer.  
Dean took a step back, and he hoped that his boss had good reflexes. He feinted left, then turned quickly to the right and nearly slumped down. He crashed into the iron door-gratings of the elevator and to his surprise they swung open. A pain shot through his shoulder when he landed on the ground. The whole cage tottered and rumbled and the doors fell back into their initial position. Dean sat up, grabbing the handle that run around the inside of the elevator to pull himself up.

“Mr. Sing....”

A vibration run through the elevator, the metal was jarring and the iron cage began to move. First it just rattled, then it began to sink in.  
Dean nearly jumped up and began to jounce the door, but the gratings didn't move.  
A crack and Dean was tossed against the ceiling, landed on the ground again and slid into the corner. The elevator was moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have no plans on how this will turn out. Feel free to leave comments or ideas. I am open to all critics.


	4. the tunnel

The impact was hard, making Dean feel like being hit by a truck or even a tank. The surrounding metal had buckled, the door had burst open, only hanging at one of its hinges. Dust and pebbles trickled down from above. The fall seemed to take endlessly, but Dean was certain that it was at last just a floor or two. He didn't know that there was something underneath the library. Maybe the town had built a dugout during the World War two, or this space was part of an old sewer tunnel.

Dean decided to rest for a moment, sorting his bones and digesting the things that happened. Mr. Singer definitely owe him some answers. Some very good answers. He didn't want to hear something about an early April's fool or a stupid prank. There had been freaks in the basement of the library. Freaks that wanted to kill him. This was not a fucking joke.  
Slowly, Dean turned on all fours and crawled out of the damaged elevator. The air was chilly down here and surprisingly fresh. Not the stale, dust filled air of the library.

“I'm gonna quit. If they want to put me into jail, fine. Better than getting killed,” he mumbled, while he slowly got up.

His shoulder was still hurting and a dizzy feeling joined. Fuck this book, fuck this library. The only thing he wanted, was his bed. Warm and cozy, with a beer on the nightstand.  
If there was an elevator, there must be a door too. He looked a round carefully and for the first time he realized, that this place didn't look like a bunker or a sewer tunnel. It didn't even look like as if it was build. The elevator had “landed” in something that looked like a cave to Dean. High enough to not be able to reach the ceiling.

The walls were out of solid rock, covered with a crystalline patina. Glimmering like glow-in-the-dark paint. Dean reached out, touching the cool stone. The glow was within the walls, traversing the stone with small lines. Sam would have been able to tell him what kind of rocks this were. Possibly, some kind of semiprecious stones. Maybe it was valuable. He scraped away some stones trying to get a bigger one to show upstairs. A pebble fall out of the wall, but when Dean lifted it up to examine it, it moldered into a glimmering dust, filling the air around his hand with hot sparkles. Dean pulled his hand back, wiping it at his trousers. With a sullen sigh, he moved back to the elevator. If there wasn't a door, maybe he could get up through the shaft of the elevator. There must be sorts of cables he could lift himself upwards. Slowly he climbed upon the metal cage and look up to the ceiling. A sudden wave of nausea hit him, when he realized, that the ceiling was completely intact. No hole, no shaft, not even a crack in the stone.

“What the fuck? How is that even possible?” There was no sign that the elevator had broken through the stone ceiling of that cave.  
“Helloooooo. Mr. Singer?”

His voice echoed through the cave, dust trickling down.  
Suddenly Dean hit himself hard, but instead of waking up out of a nightmare a warm pain shot through his right cheek. This was no dream. This was real. He was trapped in a cave, nobody had veered heard off.  
A sudden tiredness come over and Dean sat down, right where he stood. The ground was hard and cold beneath him, but he didn't care. His gaze dropped on his hands. They were shaking and in the dim light of the rocks, he could see the stains of blood on his skin, already dried.  
  
It took him a while to resist the urge to scream and sob. He knew, that when he wanted to find a way out, he needed to be focused on what was happening. If there were more of this freaks down here, he would need something to protect himself. Maybe, he could use one of the metal poles of the elevator. Slowly he got up, shaking the dust of his clothes again and walked over to the damaged elevator. A single distorted pole stuck out of the stone next to it. It won't keep those monsters of for long, but it was better than running into his death with arms wide open. He also took some wire ropes, rolled them up into a circle, big enough to hang over his shoulder.  
For a moment he thought about leaving a sign on the ground, that he was here and was moving into the dark tunnel. He scrapped the plan. Where else should he have been gone? The tunnel was the only way out and obviously the only way in (for the moment).  
With the metal pole in his hand he began to head to the darkness in front of him.  
  
Darkness was the wrong word. Even the tunnel was filled with the glow of the tunnel wall. The same tiring blueish light, which reminds him more and more of the illumination of toilets to avoid fixer to use the spot for their drugs. The shine was bright enough to see a few steps ahead. However, he moved slowly, resting every few steps to listen into the surrounding silence. He was relieved and pissed off, that the only sound he could hear was his own breath and the heartbeat in his chest.  
The tunnel leaded upwards as if it was planned with a ruler. No curves, no crossing, just an endless straight way to move. Dean could feel it in his calves that the way was getting up, and he was wondering, when he would reach the surface.  
The downfall with the elevator lasted just a few seconds, and he wasn't free-falling, like being kicked out of an airplane. The elevator had bumped against the rock, which had out braked it. So he must be only ten or fifteen meters beneath the surface. That's the theory.  
Dean leaned against the wall, wiping some sweat of his face. He could tell how long he had been walking, but it was enough to make him feel tired, hungry and thirsty. If he had known, that he had to wander around for miles, he would have packed a lunchbox, he thought, while sliding down the wall with a sigh.  
The tunnel was wide enough, that Dean could sit and spread his legs comfortably without touching the opposite wall. Carefully, he put down the pole next to him and got rid of the heavy ropes.

“I can't believe it,” he mumbled to himself, searching the pockets of his jackets for something useful. In the inside pocket he found a single piece of chewing gum, which he unpacked immediately. The taste of peppermint was familiar and calming and Dean took the time to look around. It was obvious to him, that the tunnel must be artificial. Everything was to straight and to smooth to appear out of nature and erosion. Someone must have build these endless ways. But who was able to do that? And who was able to hide this fact from all the people in his hometown?  
He closed it his eyes and inhaled deeply, when he suddenly spotted a little difference to the hours before. A soft touch on his skin, a hint of a chill, that made his skin hairs tickle. The air was moving around him. Slightly, not enough to realize if you were busy with running around and staying alive. Now, while he rested, he could feel it. The exit had to be close.  
  



	5. The other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tried to find a way out and is really surprised about what he sees

With every step he took, the dim light around him changed. The blueish shine disappeared, clearing the ground for the daylight. He must have been down in that tunnel for a while, Dean thought, when he got aware of the sunlight floating into the tunnel through a small, maybe forty inches wide gap. Cool air was joining the sun and snow crystals were steaming into the cave from the top of the gap, like someone was decorating a cake with powder sugar.  
A wave of anticipation made Dean shiver. He had found a way out and although he had lots of questions, the first thing he would do, was going to Ellen and Jo down the road, eating a god-damn bacon burger with lots of cheese fries and as dessert a whole damn cherry pie. Then he would go to the library, asking Mr. Singer what kind of drug he had given him, to trip out like that.  
Dean put down the things he had carried and stepped out of the cave, wondering how many miles he might be away from the city.  
A cold wind blew into his face, when he left the shelter of the cave. The sun was shining bright and the snow that had covered everything around him was blazing. Slowly, Dean looked around and the anticipation immediately changed into something that he could only name panic. He had stepped out onto a small area, with trees to the right and left. In front of him, thirty feet away, the wall of snow covered trees opened like a theater curtain, revealing an astonishing landscape. Down below laid a valley, also cover in a thick layer of snow and ice, dark spruces were disturbing the flawless white. To his right the landscape was shielded by a mountain range, which disappeared at the hazy horizon. This was beautiful, but it wasn't a landscape he had ever seen in Lawrence. Kansas was a plain state, nothing higher than a molehill. Those mountains, he saw, must be as high as the Rockies, and those were over 650 miles away from Lawrence.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He took a few steps forward to the edge of the area, looking down into the valley. A river was searching it's way through the snow, glittering like liquid silver in the sun. Dean peered the landscape, searching for something that could help him find his way home. A truck stop, a village or a road, but the only thing he saw was ice and snow.

“I can't believe that!”

He turned around, think about his possibilities.  
Going back wasn't an option, there had been only one way to go in the cave and this way would lead him back to the crashed elevator. For a moment he thought about staying at the entrance, maybe lighting a fire. His stomach decided that this wasn't a got option. He was tired and hungry, and he would find anything other than ice to eat up here. The only option he had, was finding a way down into the valley.  
Not convinced by his own decision, Dean headed back to the cave, grabbing the iron pole and the rope. He took one last glance into the cave, before he turned towards the trees on his left.  
  
The way down was the most weary thing he had done his entire life. The trees were building a solid wall, and he had to squeeze himself through tree trunks and bend down under deep hanging branches.  
His jeans were soaked and glued against his calves. Snow was trickling in his jacket, turning into a frosty stream that ran down his spine. When he didn't have to shove branches aside, he rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air into his palms. The tips of his fingers had already turned into a blueish red color, and they felt more and more numb. Snod was running down his nose, freezing immediately at his upper lip.  
He had to confess to himself, that it was a bad idea to walk down a snowy hill, just in a thin jacket. If he had known that he would be on a hiking trip through an icy dystopia, he would have taken his scarf and a thicker coat.  
Tiredness spread in his body and the cold began to take its toll.

“Never thought I would freeze to death,” he mumbled to himself. He always had imagined himself dying on the road in Baby, getting hit by a truck. Boom and over and out.

A crack made Dean snap back into the cold reality. The sound was loud and didn't fit into the silence of the forest.

“Look, who we found. Food...fresh food,” a voice said and Dean could see a creature jumping down from a tree on the other side of a clearing.

His mind was so blurry that he hadn't realized leaving the forest. Slowly, Dean tried to lift the pole, but the cold metal slip out of his hand.

“What do you want?” Dean took his last power to sound strong and confident, but his voice was just a weak tremble.

“Obviously, isn't it. I'm hungry. We didn't find much to eat these days.” The stranger sweep his arms. “All food is gone. Too cold to survive. Only some rabbits left.”

He strolled over to Dean, licking his lips. “I think I eat your liver first. It tasted the best, when it's still warm and juicy. I like it, when the blood is running down my chin, while I dig my teeth into the flesh.” He laughed, exposing sharp teeth. Dean had to thought about the strangers that had intruded the library.

“What are you?”

“You didn't recognize are werewolf? Shame on you.”

“There isn't such thing!”

The werewolf began to laugh again, throwing his head back and howling into the sky.

“You are funny. If I weren't that hungry, I would keep you as a pet to entertain me.”

While coming closer, he lifted his, looking at his claws. “You will soon feel, that I am real, boy. But I'm surprised, that you didn't know what I am. The woman that came along here long ago, was quite aware of what I am. She left me this here.” He pointed to a scar on his face. “Such a sweet thing, looking so delicate. Well... she nearly killed me and I could hardly escape into the woods” He grabbed Dean and pushed him to the ground. “You look a little like her, the same stubborn gaze. But you are not as strong as her, not as fierce.”

Dean turned his head, looking up to the werewolf which now stood on top of him.

“If you are so eager to eat me, why are you talking that much. Kill me and I hope you suffocate at my bones. You Son of a bitch.”

“Oh, if you are begging so nicely...”

The moment the werewolf made a dash, a howl filled the forest, making the trees shiver. A bunch of crows flew up the treetops, escaping in the air with a loud cawing.The werewolf hesitated looking around and his eyes went wide. Dean tried to turn his head into the direction the werewolf was looking, but his limbs were stiff and cold. He felt that something was watching him.

“My lucky day,” the werewolf grinned, leaving Dean laying in the snow. The creature got on his feet, spreading his claws minatory.

“Thought you died.” The werewolf got no answer, instead a black shadow appeared, running the werewolf over.

With all his power, Dean turned on all fours, trying to crawl to and old tree trunk that lied across the ceiling. He propped against it more laying than sitting and his gaze wandered to the werewolf who was attacked by another creature. A big black wolf. Dean felt like jumping out the frying pan right into the fire. It didn't matter who would win the fight, he would end up as snack. He hoped that the fight would take that long, that he was frozen to death before, he was eaten alive.  
The werewolf was trying to scratch the wolf, but the black animal was too fast for the creature. They were eyeing each other, searching for the weak point of the opponent.  
Something about the wolf caught Deans attention. The animal was big, bigger than any wolf he had seen before. It's fur was black, an intense darkness were the snowflakes that were flying up, looked like a diamond coat. A strength and dominance vibrated through the air and even dean could feel the power of the wolf. An aura of something ancient. The wolf looked over to Dean for a second, tilting his head, than he jumped onto the werewolf without any prior warning. The creature stumbled backwards and bumped into the snow. A howl echoed through the silence, joined by the sound of breaking bones and bubbling blood. Dean didn't have to look up to know, that the werewolf was dead. Steps were coming closer. Paws on snow, soft and steady.

“So I'm next?” Dean breathed and the sort gave him a feel of peace. The snow had soaked all his clothes, and he wasn't even able to fill his lungs properly. His whole body felt stiff and tired. Dean closed his eyes, waiting for the all ending bite.  
Instead, the wolf laid down close to Dean, his body shielding him from the surrounding cold. Dean could feel the warmth of the animal, the softness of the fur before his mind drifted away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, that it took so long to continue the story. I have her in my mind, but my ability to write and focus on stories is very bad right now. So much is going on in life and my mental illness makes it not easier. I will continue this story with short chapters, so that you didn't have to wait too long.


End file.
